My Neighbour Errol: Trees

As many of you have probably surmised by now, Errol is a 10 year old boy living in a 42 year old man’s body.

I probably don’t even need photo evidence.

Amongst the ten year old activities he enjoys is teasing, watching cartoons and, most importantly, climbing trees.

Willows are his favourite victims.

Normally Errol and nature trying to get along are like cats and vacuum cleaners trying to be friends.

But trees are one thing that Errol can never resist. Actually, climbing large objects of any sort seems to be an addiction. There is rarely a trip to the park where he DOESN’T race up some tree, or play equipment or rock face.

Or girders…

But just because he CAN do these things with surprising nimbleness doesn’t always mean he SHOULD. Because you see, despite that young 10 year old living in Errol, there is still a 42 year old body to contend with, a 42 year old body that does not always deal well with things like copious amounts of exercise.

It deals a lot better with eating pork rinds.

Which brings us to this past Monday. Errol was doing his usual work at Disneyland and decided it would be a fun idea to film himself freaking out about some news his work received next to his overwhelmed coworkers. He took the camera to work, planning to film in the afternoon.

I imagined that it would be simply clips of him running and screaming around his office bothering his work mates. Seemed simple enough, but effective. Everyone’s happy.

Almost everyone.

At 5:30 I get a phone call. It’s Errol. I am rather confused as he doesn’t normally get off work until 6, but I figure he’s doing his “coffee break phone call” time.

Of course I am not completely heartless. My first reaction was concern and worry. Once we established that he would live, only then did I call him an idiot. Sprained ankle, not a big deal.

Then of course he brought up the very good point that the skit we are supposed to perform live on stage on Saturday would be very much hindered by the dolt on the crutches.

It’s hard to describe how I felt in that moment…so I will let this comic explain it instead.

Now, in two days, we have to perform a skit that is very much dependent on Errol’s physical comedy. We were supposed to meet tonight to find a way to get around it, but in his druggy ankle pain haze Errol forgot that he had a rehearsal dinner for a wedding he’s MC-ing on Friday.

Seriously…fishbrain…

I am going through several phases every hour or so. First I panic. Then I curse my buffoonish creative partner. Then I reach a state of eerie calm and certainty that I shall figure this out and we can still make this happen. Then it goes back to panic again. This performance has gotten much more complicated. All because my man-child friend wanted to fulfill his dream of being in Cirque du Soleil.

Not Errol.

How is it that this man can be a creative genius, competent father, dole out sage wisdom like tic tacs, but can’t grasp such basic concepts as “Maybe next time I shouldn’t climb the freaking tree”?

Or eat dairy

It’s a shame too…he actually had his lines learned…I asked him if at the very least he had learned anything from this. His response?

“Next time I will wear better shoes”

Sigh…

I am going to die a very early, stress related death at this rate. Cross your fingers, people. Cross them hard.